


Solace

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-05
Updated: 2013-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-23 18:10:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/625137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he’s in his right mind, when he examines and sees the situation for what it is, he tries to resist the pull and the need because he has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solace

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to [Summary of a Relationship](http://archiveofourown.org/works/625134).

When he’s in his right mind, when he examines and sees the situation for what it is, he tries to resist the pull and the need because he has to. It’s what he’s supposed to do, good bad boy that he is. The resolution never lasts for long, though; this morning, he used the few minutes of indecision to flee the room while his resolve held.

He’s not sure what is the more warped in this mess: the kind of solace that Lincoln provides; or the fact that Lincoln – only Lincoln – can undo and redo him in such a way, and that _he_ needs it in the first place.

No need to bury his head in the sand. Sure, he fled this morning, but only after promising he would be back, early and needy and eager to immerse himself in anything Lincoln would be willing to give. Hardly a victory. The urge is wrong on so many levels, its strength frightening and fascinating at the same time; the prospect of never being able to feed and fill it anymore makes his head and heart feel as though they are about to stop functioning.

* *

He’s late by one little hour, not entirely of his own volition. He could have made more effort to try and be on time; he didn’t just because.

The bruise on his neck throbs when he turns his head to peer inside as he locks the door. It did that all day – throb each time Michael turned or moved his head. Not a one hundred percent unpleasant sensation.

The apartment is quiet and almost entirely dark, only a patch of light at the other end of the hallway, coming from the bedroom. He follows it like a beacon, wondering if Lincoln has left – earlier today or perhaps exactly at the point where Michael could have been considered as being late. It’s mostly rhetorical; he knows Linc is still here, he can feel his presence. He knows from experience the difference between an apartment being empty and one looking empty.

Linc is burrowed under the blankets and into the pillows, one arm poking from the messy bedding and a broad shoulder almost hiding his face. Skin shiny and golden in the dim light, muscles relaxed and whole body slack and lazy, just waiting for his brother to show up. The need to indulge right away and topple into bed knocks Michael in the chest. He grips the footboard of the bed, the movement sending Linc rolling onto his back.

Hooded eyes, heavy-lidded with lust, amusement and maybe a hint of drowsiness, scrutinize his face. Bedroom eyes, Michael thinks. Always so efficient. The delicious twinge that has been drumming all day long in his stomach and groin at the thought of what – who – he’d left in bed this morning and would hopefully find in it tonight reaches a new level. It morphs from twinge into full throbbing, and from vague stiffness into quickly growing hardness.

Lincoln doesn’t call him on being late, nor does he protest when Michael says he needs a shower, stalling and delaying the moment because he relies on the principle that Linc deserves it. Linc doesn’t talk, doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t care about whatever principles Michael relies on, though; that’s so obvious as he pushes sheets and blankets aside and casually exposes himself. His fist is a tight ring around his cock, engorged tip emerging from his fingers. The display makes Michael’s mouth water.

Thinking process short-circuited, moving on autopilot, he sheds his coat and perches on the edge of the bed, leans down slowly but surely, fascinated by the proffered erection. The flesh is salty and so warm between his cold lips, a solace of its own after spending the day out, away from Lincoln and his comforting heat. Warm too, the skin under his hands as he holds onto his brother’s hips, or the fingers Lincoln curls around the back of his head. He’s not quite holding him, but definitely encouraging him. And frustrating him on purpose, too: he won’t remove his fist from around his cock to let Michael take him deeper. Michael gnaws at the offensive fingers, grunts and, when nothing works, looks up.

Lincoln grins. He grins and starts helping Michael to remove his clothes. He hasn’t waited here all day for this to end with a damn blowjob, he says – no matter how good Michael is at this, no matter how hot it is to watch him so smart in his classy suit and so horny in his endeavor. The pieces of clothing fall one after another by the bed, starting with the silk tie, taking with them the chill of the winter and the poker face Michael wears in public. Here, as he lies on top of Linc and allows himself to be rolled across the bed, he has no more shields to put up, all defense mechanisms set at their lowest.

He drowns in Lincoln’s warmth and smell, wrapping himself in them like in a secure blanket. He breathes in the scent of skin and sweat and sex from the previous night. He would bet that, unlike him, Lincoln didn’t even bother thinking about a shower and probably barely left the bed today. The thought turns on his picky self a lot more than it should.

Lincoln mouths the purple bruise on his neck. “People asked about it?”

He shakes his head. Where he works, people don’t ask this kind of question, but “They stared.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

Not the truth, but close enough; it rather pertains to the realm of slight exaggeration. It doesn’t _hurt_ , but it is sensitive. Lincoln touches the hickey with the pad of his forefinger, poking gently at the slight swell, and then with the tip of his tongue. Shivers run down Michael’s spine, followed by a jerk of shock when Lincoln’s teeth graze the still sore spot – way to kiss and make it better. He closes his eyes and tips his head to the side, letting Lincoln have his way and do whatever he wants to him.

They’re shifting on the bed, rutting and swaying against one other rather than exchanging kisses and caresses. Michael grits his teeth at the feeling of Lincoln’s cock pushing into his stomach and rubbing against his own erection. Anything looking remotely like foreplay is maddening right now. His decision to leave this morning imposed on them about ten hours of waiting, anticipation and fantasizing – maybe a couple of jerking off sessions in Lincoln’s case – and he’s going to jump out of his skin if he can’t have Lincoln right now.

“Please,” he whispers, panting with need in the crook of Linc’s neck, draped all over his brother’s body.

He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t unclench his teeth until he can feel cool and slicked-up fingers slide down his spine and between his buttocks. He rises up onto his knees, then, and lets Lincoln take control over his movements. The hands on his hips decide how fast, or in this case how slow, he’s allowed to sink down; how straight he has to keep his back, not allowing him to bend down and kiss Linc; how steadily and smoothly Lincoln’s cock is entering him. His body opens wantonly, the feeling of fullness familiar, delicious and so vital.

As soon as Lincoln’s hands slip down, Michael catches his wrists, pushes his arms up and pins them on the pillow on each side of his head. He laces their fingers together and squeezes. Lincoln rolls his hips to settle comfortably, determined to enjoy the ride from his supine position.

“I’ve been imagining you like this all day,” he rasps, the confession as incendiary to Michael as the strong muscles straining between his knees or the dick owning his ass. He moans and inwardly thinks that if this is Linc’s way to kiss and make it better tonight, everything was worth it. He starts moving, up and down, back and forth, tightening hard around Lincoln on each upward movement as though to catch and keep him forever. A hand – the same hand Lincoln was using to stroke himself and tease him a few minutes ago – slips out of his grasp and wraps around his cock. He looks down, watches the leaking tip poking from between the rough fingers and whines.

“You know what else I’ve been thinking about, today?”

He doesn’t believe Lincoln really expects a response, but he shakes his head nonetheless and moves his hips in a way that will ensure he takes pleasure both in Lincoln’s shaft in his body and in his hand around his erection.

“After this,” Linc says slowly, arching up to meet Michael’s movements, “we’re going to eat something, rest a bit, and later tonight, you’re going to fuck me.” It doesn’t matter whether this is dirty talking in the heat of the moment or whether he means it. It’s effective either way, making Michael twist above him. “Want me on my back or bending over for you, Mike?”

Michael closes his fingers around Lincoln’s. He forces him to grip the base of his cock tighter, delaying his own release, making sure Linc will come first and Michael will see, hear and feel it.

When he finally collapses onto Lincoln’s chest, he’s limp from head to toes. The possibility of starting something again is almost alien and laughable at the moment, his mind and body swimming in _hot_ and _velvety soft_ and _perfect_ , barely enough wit and will left in him to say, “On all fours. I want you on all fours.”

* *

Lincoln meant every word.

Michael gets the confirmation a few hours later as he kneels behind Linc and, hands on his bottom, parts his buttocks. He watches Linc relax and open for him, for his fingers, tongue, and cock. He nestles into that tight and gripping warmth; he relishes in it, lets it seep into his bones, and blankets Lincoln’s body.

His nails will leave small crescent marks on his brother’s hips; he will apologetically kiss them when they’re done and he pulls off.

* *

He’s alone in the bed when he wakes up, the sheets disheveled and still warm from the night. His inner thigh throbs where Lincoln bit him, playfully warning him on his way up to kiss him on the mouth that no one had better have the opportunity to stare at _this_ bruise. At the blatant possessiveness, Michael came for the third time of the night, dribbling an almost painful orgasm over Lincoln’s fist.

He rolls onto his side and closes his eyes. Everything is quiet around him.

He knows from experience the difference between an apartment looking empty and one being empty.

-Fin-

\--Comments and kudos are always welcomed :)


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